


wonder on repeat

by mangozaya



Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Light Angst, M/M, One Big Happy Family, eventually, happy birthday ame ♡, thats a tag i didnt expect to exist omg, ♡ ♡ ♡
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 16:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30074829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangozaya/pseuds/mangozaya
Summary: Chanwoo was only supposed to stay at the Kims' residence for a third night. He'd fully intended to fix up some boards, nurse his own health, and then be on his way.That was before the Kims' and their peculiar friends started carving out spaces to fit Chanwoo into their daily lives—taking his jagged edges and siphoning them down until they were milder, kinder—and suddenly Chanwoo's not so sure he knows what he wants.(Afamily. He wants this family to be his own.)
Relationships: Kim Hanbin | B.I/Kim Jinhwan/Kim Jiwon | Bobby
Kudos: 3





	wonder on repeat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hwannies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hwannies/gifts).



> ♡ so this is *checks watch* a MONTH LATE i am so sorry omg, thank you for being patient with me ame ♡ happy happy belated bday and also hanbin coming home !! i adore you, and i know i repeat myself weekly but ur endlessly supportive and absolutely adorable and im very lucky to know you ♡
> 
> ♡ here's 5k of sad chanwoo and his soon-to-be family ♡

It’s never the brutal thunderstorms that manage to wake Hanbin, but instead the rattling of their creaky windows—the flimsy cardboard firmly taped to the sill, but its edges slowly collapsing with the onslaught of water and wind crashing against their home.

Bobby always insists that the single sheet of cardboard will hold, and he must know something Hanbin doesn’t, because they’ll wake up the morning after a storm with a surprisingly dry wooden floor, the cardboard drying and only slightly frayed. Jinhwan calls it dumb luck, Bobby insists it’s his personal feat of engineering, and Hanbin will pour himself a cup of tea between the both of them, dozing off as his boyfriends argue over the merits of soggy cardboard.

Tonight is much like any other storm the past week has seen, with the midnight spectacle being a truly alarming display of hail that creates a woodpecker effect against their delicate window barrier. The only thing keeping Hanbin properly dry is the double layer of cardboard that Bobby agreed to, with Jinhwan’s entire weight shifted to the left of Hanbin’s hips, pinning him between his partners in a sort-of cozy cocoon. It’s equal parts comfortable as it is sweltering, and Hanbin attempts to maneuver himself in a comical full body shimmy, ducking under Bobby’s arm that’s somehow lazily thrown around both him and Jinhwan. Now, if he could _only_ escape to the kitchen for a glass of water without waking anyone up in the process.

“Bin?”

It really was easier said than done. Hanbin winces, turning slightly to his left to meet a groggy Jinhwan, who seems to be testing his voice in a lazy drawl as Hanbin continues to move to the end of the bed

“Just need some water, I’ll be back,” Hanbin murmurs kindly, running his palm down Jinhwan’s calf as a grounding touch, soothing him back to sleep.

Jinhwan grunts, a noise that Hanbin only just hears above the _pit-pit_ against the exterior of their home, but he can’t help his faint smile as Jinhwan moves to close the gap between him and Bobby, searching for the warm spot Hanbin has left a moment before. Jinhwan tucks his chin against Bobby’s collar, not rousing the other in the process, leaving Hanbin free to rise and reach for the door, barely a sliver of dimming lamp to light his way.

Oil was getting scarce; this was one of the rare nights that Hanbin lit the lamp before the evening settled over their small town.

Finding the kitchen was more muscle memory at this hour, and Hanbin finds himself at their stock of freshwater, a ladle in one hand, spooning water at increments that Hanbin barely has patience for, but the storm is still causing a racket, shaking their main door slightly from where Hanbin can see it, and he blinks away sleep to properly regard the state of the storm.

Hanbin quirks an eye at the rattling door—the hinges seeming a little more worse for wear than usual—and quietly pads over, water in one hand, the other reaching to swing aside the metal piece that sealed away the small hole in the door that served as a check for which neighbor or friend was visiting at that time. They had done away with any handle or lock a year prior. Their town was a quiet and hidden one, safe from any outsiders who were only looking for trouble, but Hanbin reserved his right to one small privacy. He preferred knowing who exactly was at his doorstep before letting someone in. He had a particular neighbor that, no matter how much Bobby insisted on their good character, never failed to deplete Hanbin’s whipper butter supply.

(It was a little petty, but the butter took hours of churning, and Hanbin would be damned if all his work went into baking flat cakes he never even got to taste.)

Hanbin stops short, realizing that touching metal on a night with such thunderstorms would come with its own consequences, so he just hovers near the entrance of his home, sipping the last of the water and staring at nothing in particular.

The hail was sounding louder as Hanbin found himself more awake, now resembling more of a thudding sound, one that mimicked the heavy movement of their few cattle when it was time for feeding within their small stable.

His first instinct was to wake Bobby and warn him of the seemingly increasing hail, but Hanbin couldn’t find it in him. If anything from the last week of final harvest sales and town travel proved, it was that Bobby deserved far more rest than he was allowing himself, and Hanbin wasn’t willing to take that away from him. Jinhwan had spent the last few hours tallying up their remaining bulk crops and tying up the animals before the storm hit, and Hanbin himself had taped up blisters from working the field for hours before, digging deep irrigation trails to redirect stormwater.

The more Hanbin reflected, he realized they were beyond exhausted, and caring for the door now violently shaking seemed like a less than appealing idea, and he’d happily turn on his heel and escape back to bed as long as—

“I think there’s someone outside,” a voice sounds behind him.

 _Ah._ So the storm had woken Bobby up anyway.

“Bin, are you going to open it?”

Hanbin looks towards the door and shakes his head mildly, voice barely audible over the noise, “No.”

Bobby clearly doesn’t expect Hanbin’s refusal, but he steps forward to crowd him close, head lazily resting on Hanbin’s collar. “Come on, let’s help our neighbors.”

Hanbin sniffs, running his hand lightly down Bobby’s side, thumbing the crease just under his rib, “I meant that you should open the door, my feet are too cold.”

Bobby laughs around something that sounds a lot like _spoiled_ , but his undertones are only affectionate, and he reaches for the door, wincing as another crack of thunder disturbs their home. Hanbin takes care to burrow into Bobby’s chest, making Bobby’s four steps to the door a lot harder than they need to be. It’s a bit comical, until it isn’t. Hanbin feels Bobby stiffen before the sharp intake of a breath, but it takes a drowsy moment before he bothers to turn to the open door, wincing at the frigid air that blankets his skin. Hanbin turns belatedly, glancing at whoever it may be on their front steps, but he doesn’t really get any time before he feels Bobby shift suddenly, hands coming to catch Hanbin’s shoulders.

“Hanbin, get behind me.”

Hanbin’s _what?_ is on the tip of his tongue, but there’s something sharp in Bobby’s tone that has him shifting entirely behind his boyfriend, and he peers more closely at the stranger on their doorstep.

 _Nothing_ about the stranger was remotely familiar—not the clothes that were soaked in rainwater and clearly a fabric not-local; the stranger’s heavyset boots seemed to dispel rain, something Hanbin had never seen before. Bobby squared his shoulders, but everything about the stranger was more befuddling than anything. Who in their right mind was traveling in such weather conditions, especially ones that were to persist over a few days?

“I was told I could find shelter here,” the stranger murmurs, and Bobby tenses for all of two seconds before exhaling. It’s quiet. The stranger’s next few words collide with a sharp crack of thunder, and Hanbin doesn’t catch the end, but Bobby’s stance relaxes. He slumps gently into Hanbin’s chest and gestures the stranger in, a picture of perfect hospitality.

Hanbin hears the conversation in dulcet tones, a faint conversation of _traveling for a few days_ — _no, I’m alone_ — _Chanwoo, it’s- yeah, Chanwoo_ — _I don’t have anything else, just this_ —

“Well you’ve found the right door, but we don’t exactly have spare-” Bobby trails off, but the stranger neatly steps through the door, and Hanbin winces from the gust of cold air and reaches for the stranger’s bag mindlessly, looking to dry it, but the stranger shifts and draws into himself.

“We can make room, and I asked Yunhyeong to clear out the stables last night, so it’ll have to do for now,” a voice drawls out behind them all, and Jinhwan steps into the clearing, blinking rapidly, cheek uncomfortably scrunched against his shoulder in a clear effort to somehow sleep standing up. Bobby startles.

“When did you-”

“I’ve been here long enough, I think I get what’s going on,” Jinhwan murmurs, and slides right up beside Hanbin, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he focuses on the stranger— _Chanwoo_.

“You’re young,” Jinhwan muses quietly, mostly speaking into Hanbin’s shoulder, “what’s got you this far east on a night like this?”

Chanwoo only raises his head, shivering lightly with the rain drenched against his skin, eyes flashing at the question. Hanbin gets the sense they won’t get an answer out of him now, maybe never, but that hardly matters. A stranger’s business was nothing but their own, and Hanbin wasn’t one to pry beyond a general _you won’t leave in the dead of night and take our cows with you, will you?_

Chanwoo gives him a funny look, but resolutely shakes his head once, twice.

It’s good enough for the Kims’.

Jinhwan slinks away with an offensively loud yawn, leaving Hanbin to put on a kettle for Chanwoo. Bobby seats himself at the table, pensive as he waits for the water to boil, an equally tense Chanwoo uncomfortably settles at the other end of the counter. It doesn’t take more than a few minutes for Hanbin to grow agitated with the atmosphere, and he too retires after Jinhwan, leaving Bobby with a gentle grasp of his shoulder, a clear _wrap this up quickly and come back to bed_ — Hanbin’s not about to let an ill-timed stranger throw off the limited sleep schedule his boyfriends already suffer from anymore than necessary.

Hanbin doesn’t wait for the kettle to whistle more than once before he sees himself to bed. He doesn’t bother catching Chanwoo’s eye before he leaves— he wasn’t being rude, just practical. Hanbin knows to keep his neighbors at arm’s length and leave passersby to be forgotten.

It’s how he’s learned to keep himself safe, his family safe, instead of waiting for things to fracture.

+

Only a few hours after settling Chanwoo into their stable, Hanbin wakes to the familiar whistle of their kettle once again, finding Bobby up early making breakfast, with Jinhwan comfortably slouched against the counter adding in occasional ingredients.

“The kid’s staying another night,” Jinhwan says as some sort-of greeting, and Hanbin blanks, and moves to pour himself a steel cup of tea.

“Sugar?”

Bobby shakes his head, “we ran out two nights ago, but Yunhyeong’s got plans to pick some up on his way to the city this afternoon. Use this instead?”

Hanbin blinks at Bobby’s prompt, and accepts the small spoon of brown sugar instead, taking a sip, head leaning heavily on his wrist as he fights to stay awake. The sun has only just risen above the skyline, and Hanbin thinks its too early to process anything beyond his slightly off-tasting tea.

“The kid is still asleep in the stable, I went and saw him this morning. He doesn’t seem very- now, how do I put this,” Bobby turns off the gas, leaving whatever was on the stove to fizzle slightly, “he looks _terrible_. Like, weeks of dirt caked into his boots, it’s actually impressive how long he’s managed to-”

“Jiwon, please,” Jinhwan snorts, and tosses chopped tomato into another pan.

“-right. I told him to stay a second night, and he told me he’d fix our stable wall.”

Hanbin stares. “You put him to work?”

“He put _himself_ to work,” Bobby corrects.

Hanbin sets his cup down. “It can’t really be helped then, but he doesn’t need to patch up anything. Isn’t that a bit- odd?”

“Might be courtesy from where he comes from,” Jinhwan interjects smoothly, and winces at a bit of sparking oil.

“And where is _that_ exactly?”

Bobby shrugs, clearing his side of the stove to make room for Jinhwan. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Hanbin’s been grinding down on his teeth for a few minutes before he realizes he’s doing it, and winces slightly at the dull ache in his jaw. He settles for the only real question he’s had all morning.

“Can we trust him?” Hanbin asks, and Bobby smiles at him like all this was too easy, and maybe it is, because even with the golden heart that Bobby all-too-carelessly wears on his sleeve, his intuition (dumb _luck_ ) was always strikingly (and _annoyingly_ ) correct.

“He doesn’t even look like he has the strength right now to tie his own laces,” Jinhwan responds, and Bobby cuffs him lightly on the shoulder with a _who’s being mean now?_

“Remind me again why we do this,” Hanbin murmurs, but Bobby levels his gaze, and offers a blunt, “why not?”

Hanbin supposes that’s as good an answer as any.

“And besides,” Bobby starts, and Hanbin startles, because he thinks he knows where the conversation is headed, “wanting him to have an even temporary place in our home isn’t misplaced pity, it’s me being selfish.”

“Don’t turn this on yourself,” Hanbin counters, but Jinhwan cuts him off gently, bringing a rough palm to smooth the furrow between Hanbin’s eyebrows, a quiet affection pulling Hanbin close enough to lean his forehead on Jinhwan’s collar, breathing in the faint aroma of cooking herbs and synthetic plant feed.

Bobby continues, rolling his shoulders back. “You remember when we first found Donghyuk?”

Hanbin exhales slowly, tucked in Jinhwan’s neckline, “I don’t need to be reminded of that.”

“I know,” Bobby says, not unkindly, “but he’s alive, isn’t he? And we got Junhoe out of that as well, even if he’s actually the worst at remembering to take out the cow feed-”

“ _Jiwon._ ” It’s said by Hanbin and Jinhwan in unison, and Bobby grins.

(Hanbin never knew Bobby’s late mentor— one of the few things the three of them never brought up unless Bobby was wine-drunk and sentimental, but Hanbin thinks he gets it, even distantly.

Years before Bobby stumbled into Hanbin and Jinhwan’s village, Bobby had trudged along with his mentor leading the way—Bobby had been just a child, bone-weary and drained, watching as his mentor pleaded for lodgings and rations only to be rejected over and over.

As much as Hanbin wished to point fingers, there was no real blame to place on anyone in the end, because Hanbin could only suspect how terribly Bobby’s former village had suffered at the hands of thieves and poachers—there was a deep-seated fear that padded Bobby’s old village, where no one dared offer more than hastily wrapped bread and frightened whispers behind closed doors to strangers in need.)

Maybe it was misplaced pity, or maybe it was a genuine attempt at sympathy, because for even the richest of travelers, Bobby opened the door without reservation. Every stranger is kind, even kinder than the last.

Hanbin counts his blessings, no matter how fragile a metric that is.

+

If Chanwoo’s being honest, there’s still an unpleasant crawl that settles heavy under his skin, and he could probably be convinced to sleep in a field for the night for how drained he is.

So he stays a second night, against his better judgement. The Kims’ are as unthreatening as they come, and Chanwoo can push aside his pride to admit as much. Night’s fallen, and as he lays uncomfortable in a bed of hay he’s pushed together, the cows just outside grumble against the sides of the stable, and Chanwoo feels comforted, even if it’s for a moment.

Maybe he was meant for this: midnight travels, stocking up in stranger’s stables until he he collected his strength for more travel, saving up coins on the dime until he had enough to open a small business somewhere, selling something worthwhile, something like—

— _like what exactly?_ It’s a taunt, one he’s entirely contrived for himself, and yet it still holds true. Chanwoo cycles between believing in his own abilities, and entirely undercutting his own life experiences the next moment. So, against his better judgement, he _stays_ , and wonders if he’s allowed to pick from the vines of berries that litter the Kims’ farmland. Perhaps not, and Chanwoo isn’t desperate enough yet to steal from people who offer him lodging.

So he drifts off, stomach in uncomfortable hunger pangs despite the two bags of milk and collection of fruits that had been left for him, and barely notices the footsteps approaching him until a figure looms almost directly above him.

To say Chanwoo startles is an understatement—he effectively trips back against a beaten stack of wheat fibers while already _laying down_ and blinks up at the stranger, but any adrenaline he’d usually have is effectively diminished by a weariness that even two nights of rest wouldn’t be able to help.

It’s a bit of a standstill. Chanwoo can’t piece together who the stranger is until they step into the light, and Chanwoo slumps back against the wheat, understanding. The man was complete with straw sandals and an oil-stained shirt that seemed to rest at his knees. This was _Yunhyeong_ , if Chanwoo’s intuition was correct. Bobby had only name dropped him several hundred times while explaining that they’d have milk and sugar soon. Chanwoo hadn’t particularly cared.

“You don’t seem particularly surprised to see me,” Yunhyeong grins, and Chanwoo is instantly thrown.

“ _You_ don’t seem to have an issue with watching me sleep.”

“I haven’t been here the whole time,” Yunhyeong notes, amused, “I was completely out when you came by last night, which was probably for the best, with the thunder and all, and I had to run into town earlier today, but we finally meet. Where did you say you were from?”

 _I didn’t,_ Chanwoo quips, but doesn’t entertain the question, instead snipping out, “so you’re their hire.”

“Not exactly.”

“A personal cook? A live-in cook?” Chanwoo doesn’t actually care, but he can’t keep the questions from spilling out.

Yunhyeong seems carefully unaffected. “Does it matter?”

“Not particularly.”

“Right.”

A standstill. Chanwoo glares at Yunhyeong, who pays him no mind before reaching into his satchel, drawing out a seedy metal tin.

“From me to you.”

“Thanks, but you can take it back to the Kims’.”

Yunhyeong snorts, keeping his arm extended with the tin of food, “you think the Kims’ were up cooking at this hour? This was all me, so whatever you seem to have against the Kims’, drop it and just eat.”

Chanwoo knows he’s fighting against something entirely fickle, and the Kims’ _have_ been resoundingly neutral, but the layered exhaustion and guilt over taking shelter with nothing to compensate his stay is starting to weight heavy on his shoulders, and he’s not ready to accept pity in the form of resources.

Chanwoo shrugs Yunhyeong off. “I don’t need your charity.”

“This wasn’t up to me, kid. I wouldn’t choose to be out here on a day like this, so you might as well take this off my hands as an apology.”

“Feed it to the cows then.”

Yunhyeong shrugs. “That seems to be your job.”

Chanwoo grits his teeth, his jaw tensing as he looks over at Yunhyeong, but Yunhyeong keeps his gaze steady and rattles the container on its hinges, cutting the tension in the air. Chanwoo’s façade drops immediately, posture visibly deflating as he reaches a hand out towards the alarmingly red-colored dish, glowering as he drags it across the dirt.

“If this is inedible, I'll raise a village complaint against you.”

“I’m sure you will,” Yunhyeong notes mildly and raises to his heels to leave, understanding that his company was no longer desired, at least not at the moment. It’d take months before Chanwoo would be comfortable enough to eat in another’s presence, but Yunhyeong luckily had endless patience on his side.

Before exiting the stable entirely, Yunhyeong turns on the spike of his boots, not quite looking Chanwoo in the eye, but Chanwoo thinks he gets it—he’s used to people glancing away from him with pity.

“I don’t entirely know where you’re from, kid. I can’t speak to your experience, but the Kims’ are good people, always have been. I don’t know what you’re thinking there, but if Bobby decides he wants to help someone, then the other two follow suit, as simple as that. Take that as you will.”

Yunhyeong leaves on that note, tipping his hat slightly in Chanwoo’s direction before making his way to the house. Chanwoo’s left behind to dig into his food, staring blankly into his empty container when he’s finished.

It’s another unexpectedly cold night.

+

The third morning comes around almost exactly as Bobby noted it would—with a heavy knock against the stable door, opening to reveal two men looking distinctly out of place, even more so than Chanwoo.

“Yunhyeong said we’d find you in here,” a man-with-suspicious-silver-hair says, and the ease with which he regards Chanwoo could almost present them as old friends.

Chanwoo properly blanks, holding his flat pillow uselessly as the other man—carrying an intricately woven wooden basket, filled with something slightly aromatic—wordlessly moves past Chanwoo to the back of the stable, searching for something Chanwoo doesn’t turn to look for.

Of course the Kims’ would have friends who were as inviting as them, but Chanwoo doesn’t think he’ll ever properly get used to this type of unfiltered goodwill. It’s starting to get suspicious; or maybe that was equal parts sleep deprivation as it was the strangeness of this village.

“Guess it’s lucky you showed up when you did, the Kims’ are pretty useless after their first harvest season, not that you heard that from me,” the-man-with-otherworldly-silver-hair laughs, and Chanwoo is about to do something stupid, like ask what Moon God granted him such blinding features, but Basket Man speaks first, entirely ignoring his companion.

“We need another hand, so you’ve got ten minutes until we head out. I suggest you pack light.”

Silver slips off his gloves and tucks them into his pocket, giving a cheeky, “you’ll scare him off, he’s still new.”

“All the better for him to get acquainted with how things work around here.”

Chanwoo raises his hand, looking between the two men weakly, and makes his voice heard above the confusing banter, “I’m right here, I _can_ hear you.”

Basket Man blinks. “Right, so why haven’t you packed yet? You’re down to eight minutes.”

Chanwoo’s more bewildered at the moment. He thinks about arguing—it would be _so easy_ to fight with these men, and he less-than-appreciates being ordered around without input—but there’s nothing remotely threatening about the two people before him, and he feels any fighting fire dissipate as Silver flashes him a blinding smile.

Chanwoo gets ready in five minutes, and leaves himself a minute to check on the wooden posts protecting the oldest cow in the stable. She whines softly when Chanwoo reaches out to cuff her gently along her nose, and Chanwoo can’t help but feel a little proud. It’s far from the panic that she had been in that first night.

Silver nods at Chanwoo as he dunks out from the stable, and Chanwoo bites his lip with a quick, “right, so who are you?”

Basket Man turns to Silver, and they raise their eyebrows at each other. Chanwoo’s growing slightly annoyed with them pretending like he wasn’t in their shared space, but he keeps quiet. Something about the dewy morning after a storm was both comforting and lethargic, and he was more than happy to play follow-the-leader as long as it meant he could doze off as they walked.

“You don’t know who we are?” Basket Man— _or was it Silver?_ —asks.

Chanwoo doesn’t bother to acknowledge which one of them had posed the question. Their voices seemed to weave into each other. Or maybe Chanwoo was just tired. It hardly mattered.

Chanwoo bites back a _that’s why I asked, isn’t it?_ , and Basket Man shrugs lightly at Chanwoo’s silence. “I’m Junhoe, and this one over here is Donghyuk, did the Kims’ not tell you who was coming around?”

Chanwoo brings his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. The Kims’ might have said something, but Chanwoo hadn’t been in any mood to listen. He wasn’t about to explain to these two men that he was trying to be on his way by the next dawn—it would only bring about more questions that he didn’t have the answers to.

“Nevermind that, as long as you’re willing to help your neighbors out, that’s all I need from you,” Donghyuk says, and he’s got a bounce to his step that leaves Chanwoo to fall behind with Junhoe, walking leisurely out into the fields, the sun still barely over the horizon line.

It’s quick, quiet work. Chanwoo thinks he prefers it this way.

Out in the field, something in Junhoe and Donghyuk’s personalities seem to switch, and Chanwoo finds himself listening intently to Junhoe’s rapid instructions of collecting potatoes and harvesting late-season wheat.

Junhoe’s got a soothing baritone to his voice, one that Chanwoo hadn’t picked up on prior, but it seamlessly works its way around Chanwoo’s surroundings, gently guiding him through the almost nonsensical process of _you grab those earlies right there_ — _no, those are weeds, not those_ — _just yank up that soil, put your weight into it_ — _don’t stab the potatoes!_

He finds himself wrist deep into half-dry soil, tugging at potatoes for what seems like an hour before Donghyuk finds his way over to Chanwoo, dropping on his heels before him, a thin sheen of sweat covering his brow, contrasting his hair that _was still somehow so goddamn silver_ —

“Hey, that’s almost a perfect basket! You’ve done this before, back home?”

Chanwoo flushes at the remark. Or maybe it’s the sun. “It’s my first time, but I- it’s not impressive.”

(Chanwoo knows compliments. He knows they’re rarely used for anything but deception—convincing him to work harder at something he’s unfairly compensated for, keeping him at a task for longer than he’s on the clock.

Compliments—some from the butcher who had siphoned money from his checks, several from a miserable spinsters who had never bothered to bandage Chanwoo’s blistered palms—always matted a textured red, something so vicious and stifling that Chanwoo flinched away from praise; avoiding it like something that would just crawl uncomfortably under his skin, burning him in the process.)

“No _really_ , this section is perfectly cut, you’re a natural,” Donghyuk’s voice comes out light, colored in rosy affection. There must be something telling with the way Donghyuk lightly rocks Chanwoo’s collected crop basket, that with all the care of an artist regarding his final piece, which breaks Chanwoo slightly; it’s not in a way that hurts.

Chanwoo’s unaware of Donghyuk looking at him until a quiet, _ah, that’s another perfect pull_ slips out, but Chanwoo can’t bring himself to thank Donghyuk just yet, but he doesn’t really need to. It’s a little easier for Chanwoo to smile at the ground, directing the softening of his gaze to the work he’s putting into the earth underneath him, and for now the diligence with which he works is proof enough that Donghyuk’s words are blanketing Chanwoo.

+

It’s awkward, bidding Donghyuk and Junhoe goodbye— Donghyuk claps Chanwoo on the back as Junhoe gives a light _we’ll see you later then_ , and Chanwoo can’t bring it in himself to mention that his belongings were already somewhat bundled for him to set off in a morning or so.

So Chanwoo says nothing instead, giving a nod as Donghyuk and Junhoe take their leave for the day, a melancholy tinge left behind as Chanwoo watches them stride out the door, presumably briefly stopping by the Kims’ before sunset.

He’s still looking blankly at the door of the stable as Jinhwan steps in delicately over the threshold, smelling offensively strong of forest pine. Chanwoo feels his nose scrunch up, and Jinhwan immediately stares Chanwoo down, daring him to comment on the fact that Jinhwan could have rolled himself in forest pine sap and it’d have the same effect it was having now.

“You alright there, with those two on your back all day?” Jinhwan’s face is entirely unreadable, and Chanwoo nods hesitantly, not knowing whether he was meant to agree or not.

“Kid, you look like you’ve seen a ghost, I’m not here to hurt you.”

“I know that,” Chanwoo bites back quickly, but it comes out a bit more snappy than intended, and Jinhwan’s features smoothen out, letting go of the creases between his brows and under his eyes. Chanwoo almost mistakes it as pity, but Jinhwan had made it clear that first night that he had no opinion regarding Chanwoo’s decisions—though it might seem callous to some, Chanwoo took note of this as a mark of faith. Jinhwan’s subconscious acknowledgement of Chanwoo’s independence was something few others afforded him.

“Right.”

It’s quiet, and Chanwoo wants to faintly jump out of his skin, if only to avoid the awkward silence. The sun beaming down on his shoulders all afternoon left faint reddened skin, and he’s aware of the sweat bunching up his clothes. His grandmother had been correct; rainwater was _not_ a substitute for even a basic rinse in a local inn. Dirt clung to his boots, and he knew of several splinters that dug themselves deep into the soles of his feet, framing the shallow yet present gash wrapping around his right knee—

“Were you going to tend to that out here?” Jinhwan sounds, and Chanwoo grimaces, shifting his ankle backwards.

Another thing about spending days outside without proper care—rainwater can only wash away so much blood and grime, and minor wounds were much more visible now that Jinhwan’s attention was solely focused on Chanwoo’s condition.

“If you don’t want to stay in the house, that’s fine, but you’re not patching that up out here. If you die, Donghyuk won’t let me hear the end of it.”

 _Huh?_ Chanwoo tries to deflect, deny, insist that he _had a cloth to wrap around his knee,_ but Jinhwan looks unimpressed, so Chanwoo cuts his losses. Without saying anything, Chanwoo shuts his mouth for good measure. Any strength to argue was gone the instant Yunhyeong had shoved that midnight meal his way, even more so when he was farming all afternoon, and now Chanwoo was really more baffled with the Kims’ than anything.

Chanwoo takes one look at Jinhwan’s steeled eyes and drops his head, exhaling into his own chest. “That’s fine, I’ll be right behind you. I just need a few minutes to- I want to gather my things.”

Jinhwan leaves him to do just that, and as Chanwoo quietly heaps his few clothes and dishes, he observes the few sleeping cows in the way back of the stable, watching as the cows snorted gently from within their shelters, and wonders if they’re just as much family to the Kims’ as all the people who seemed to flow in and out of that house.

It didn’t take much to understand the Kims’ at a baseline: they weren’t unique really, just villagers who seemed unusually ready to lend a hand, and they were tied up with some— _perplexing_ , but Chanwoo rests his case—more interesting characters, but that wasn’t something Chanwoo was willing to let himself fall deeper into.

He’d allow himself tonight, and then he’d be on his way.

He wasn’t going to let himself be deserving of much more than that.

**Author's Note:**

> **bonus scene from the next chapter:**
> 
> “Also I made dinner last night, and the night before. And if you really think about it,” Yunhyeong waves his spatula for emphasis, causing little bits of omelette to fly dangerously close to Chanwoo’s forearm, “that omelette on your plate are made with _my_ love and care, so you owe your precious health to me also.”
> 
> Chanwoo shoves a mouthful of omelette in his mouth and chews with more force than necessary. Though a rebuttal is on the tip of his tongue, he decides that arguing the merits of extra cheese contributing to _good health_ might be a dead end argument, so he instead goes for the only option he’s willing to settle on:
> 
> Throwing in the towel and giving up entirely.


End file.
